I pack my backs, shoving clothes into a rucksack once again. The fight to take everything, yet you don’t need anything just a credit card, passport, endless supply of money, and your soul self. So I pack my back again, Whilst packing them I think about all the times when I was in shitty accommodation before, I think about the exclusion of not knowing what people are talking about as they aren’t speaking in English, I think about all the previous times of wondering the endless citys all on my own, trying to find something, yet ending up with nothing. I know why I left the last time, its the same reason why I want to go again. But going somewhere, the places I have in mind is nowhere. I have nowhere in mind. I don’t want to walk through city after city. I don’t want to go anywhere. This is where it get confusing. I want to leave, but leaving would mean an escape. Its easily to do, but I wasn’t happy being on my own in a different city. When I leave, I want it to be because Ill never come back and no one will ever hear from me again.
Why did I come back?
Its a question I ask myself, and No I don’t regret coming back, because at the time, my hundred percent soul and body wanted to be home. Once your minds made up, its made up. I came back because, a fool to myself, hoped things would be different, but its not and it never will be. I still wish for things that I should be grateful for. Ive only been back five days and I feel more angry than I ever thought possible, but the one pure emotion I was reading being a thousand miles away was despair.
Why do we do the things that we do? If you don’t do anything youll never learn, youll never progress. You don’t have to be happy about it. You can live your life in pure bliss of blindness, You can pretend.
At the end of the day, the joke is on me